Time Stands Still

I can't stop the bleeding. 

I was moronic to believe that my wounds had been cauterised and were beginning to heal. I didn't realise that the scar tissue was weakening with each passing day and would soon give way, allowing me to slowly bleed internally. I can't begin to process that's happened, let alone attempt to suture the wounds myself. I'm far beyond the point of help; I need to accept this is my future and no matter how hard I try, my fate is sealed. 

Everything is more than I can handle.

I want to get high. Find my escape in a pill or powder once again. 

I want the world to slip away from me, my senses numbed out.
I don't want to have to pretend that I don't feel the deep sorrow that is resonating from deep inside me.
I don't want to have to fight back tear of rejection, loss and confusion anymore. 

I no longer want to understand why I feel the grief and sadness that haunts me every waking moment.

I've come to the realisation that I've just been waiting for a train that just isn't coming.

I've followed all the rules, waited my turn, yet still, happiness takes a different set of tracks away from me, leaving me standing on the platform checking the clock.

Panic rushes over me.
I can't quite put my finger on it, but it feels like I'm running out of time and I forget to exhale. 

I'm in a perpetually changing state of mind, getting off on the idea of oblivion.

Somewhere between my faults and my desires 

I lost the spark that willed me alive.
I fall asleep to the sound of my breathing,
wondering about the day when it will cease.
Sorrow fills my cells,
smothering me from the inside. 

Just when I believe I've broken through the surface,
something reaches for me, pulling me back into the depths below.

Your cruelty in the face of my kindness hurts me in ways that I could never express.

Memories that were treasured possessions have become reminders of something that was all a facade. 

Whispering under your breath, voicing your pure disgust, all the while wearing a mask of concern.
I used to find my strength in your abuse, telling myself that if I could go through all of this and come out on the other side I could rise to any challenge

I used to love the destruction, believing that I'd never amount to anything more without your hate.
I fell victim to you in more ways than one.

Always swallowing the way I feel out of fear that it would upset you, suppressing all of the things that made me, me, making sacrifices that I knew would only hurt me more in the end, never seeing that no matter what I did it would never be enough, I would never be enough. 

I pushed on, letting your words rip through me, forever seduced by the sweet smile, foolishly believing that there would be some sort of happy end.